


Fucked by Fear: The Hunt

by comic_books_and_bars, Ptarantula



Series: Fucked by Fear [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (sort of) cannon-typical werewolves, AU Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Biting, Bondage, Canon Asexual Character, Chasing, Dead Dove: Do No Eat, Do Not Archive, Dry Sex, Dubious Consent, Edging, Knotting, M/M, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Scratching, Sub-Drop, Suspension, Trans Character, Transgender Author, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, asexual author, female terminology for transmale genitalia, honestly fuck America and their fucking werewolves, primal, primal take down, roleplay turned fic, trans!Jon, unsatisfactory sex, very satisfactory sex, wanton destruction of Jon’s clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23599765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comic_books_and_bars/pseuds/comic_books_and_bars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptarantula/pseuds/Ptarantula
Summary: While in America hunting for information on how to stop the Unknowing Jon gets -ahem- hunted.***Jon, still trying to scramble away, grunted out “don’t suppose-“He gasped as the man pressed his full weight down again, “I could convince you tonotbe beastly about this? Leave my clothes in one piece maybe?”
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/OMC
Series: Fucked by Fear [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678831
Comments: 20
Kudos: 141





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jon simply cannot catch a break, can he? 
> 
> This is part 4 of the "Fucked by Fear" series. It can be read as a stand alone, but if you want some context please check out the other works in the series. <3

Jon found himself on the bus between Pittsburgh and Chicago when, with no explanation, the bus broke down. After a bit of a look over, it was declared that the riders would need to step off the bus while it was towed away. The lot of them stood in a huddle on the side of the road, waiting for the new bus to come get them.

Eventually, people began to wander off in search of bathrooms and food as their wait stretched on. Jon didn't feel the need for either, but he did notice that they stood alongside a pretty-ish bit of wilderness. He hadn't had much of a chance to take anything in as he rushed from locale to locale, hunting down leads.

So, much to his future chagrin, he picked his way through the little thatch of brush that separated the highway from the wood. He didn't venture far, so it was easy enough to pick a little trail through the sparse trees and bushes.

By all rights, Jon ought to have encountered a building within the first five minutes of exploration. There had been a sign for one on the turnoff announcing a state game land and shooting range. When he'd looked, there had been a dirt road and a little building just visible over the treetops. Jon had just thought it would be nice to see some trees, find that dirt road, and return to the sweltering highway to await the new bus.

But it had now been five minutes and he had encountered nothing save for more trees and brush than he cared to see. He resolved to go back, turning around in place to pick his trail backwards.

That was when he heard it - the thin, haunting whistle that wafted to him on a breeze.

Jon recognized it immediately: _a-hunting we shall go_.

“Fuck.”

He immediately started back the way he had come, not quite at a run as he didn’t trust himself to safely traverse the latticework of tree roots that covered the ground. His ears strained to hear the whistling over the sounds of crunching twigs under his own feet. The sound seemed to stay a good distance away from him as he made his retreat.

He trudged on for at least ten minutes before he stopped and glanced hurriedly around for any familiar landmark which, being in an unfamiliar forest in a foreign country, felt like looking for one particular grain of sand on a beach that you’d only seen in an impressionist painting.

He knew he should be at the road by now. He should be able to hear people in the distance. He wasn’t even that far from civilization - he’d seen a Starbucks just before the bus broke down!

But looking out through the sparse tree cover, he could tell there was nothing for miles.

The whistle sounded again, this time from two different directions. Jon could hear a rustling far off to the left and a twig breaking far off to the right.

Indecision would likely get him killed, so he picked a direction and ran. 

He ducked through a densely packed section of bushes onto a side trail, trying to put as much cover between him and his pursuers as possible. But soon his heart beat soundly in his ears and his breath came in pained gasps. He really should take up some sort of fitness regimen if he made it out of this alive.

Jon came upon a sudden drop in terrain and went tumbling down the grassy embankment, narrowly missing a tree with his head. The shout of alarm he made was loud and echoed in the otherwise quiet. He rolled to a stop as his body connected with a metal gate post which produced a dull hollow ring. His muscles screamed in protest as he tried to get up but found himself unable.

Only then did he notice how quiet the forest was, the whistling now noticeably absent. 

Why didn’t that make him feel any better?

In the utter silence of countless creatures hiding themselves away and praying their predators passed them by, it was easy to hear a group of steady footfalls coming Jon’s way. What was harder, over the ringing in Jon’s ears and the dizziness, was to tell from where.

Three surprisingly normal figures approached - they looked to be local hikers on a scenic walk. Jon could overhear them talking, easy and calm, and they certainly sounded like locals. He remembered the unnerving silence only as the hikers were within sight. One grinned with too many teeth, then pursed his lips to whistle.

Terror gripped Jon even as a spike of adrenaline spurred him into action. He scrabbled at the gate, hauling himself up and over it. He had to put distance between them. Now. He hoped that the gate was a sign that he had crossed into a place with people. Normal people. Gravel rather than grass and leaves crunched under his feet as he ran.

He was more exposed this way, but he was also less likely to trip.

In the corner of his eye, he caught the hunters splitting apart and taking different directions.

As he ran along the gravel path, he could hear them following him on either side. 

A rustling in the bushes. A snap of a twig. A splash in a puddle.

Then, dark laughter and whistling.

Suddenly, he was forced to stop.

A deer leapt across his path. The animal made sidelong eye contact for a scant second before it was gone. Jon saw his own panic mirrored back in its inky eye.

The whistling echoed after him a little behind. A tree branch dropped a few meters back.

Jon hit a small clearing where he lost track of the deer’s path altogether. There were a few directions he could choose, and in his moment of indecision, a voice carried through to him.

“ _A-hunting we will go_ ,” the deep, masculine tone seemed to come from all sides. What was worse was that it was closing in.

“ _A-hunting we will go_...”

Jon spun in place, trying to locate the source. He only succeeded in further disorienting himself, a sense of dread pooling in his gut.

“ _We'll catch a fox and put him in a box_ ,” the voice continued, getting closer. 

If Jon wasn’t positive there was no one in his immediate line of sight he could have sworn the singer was right on top of him.

“ _And never let him go~_.”

Jon stood rooted to the spot even as his mind screamed at him to move.

Something massive barrelled into him from behind.

Momentum and muscle forced the air from his lungs, and his face was slammed into the damp grass. He fought back, but it was impossible.

The thing delighted in his struggling. Every inch of it was sharp - it’s fingers, it’s teeth, the stubble that raked Jon’s neck. 

It’s voice cut like a knife, “hello, little fox.”

Jon screamed, loud and higher pitched than he thought possible. His legs kicked out in any way they could and in a brief moment of clarity he tried to buck the man off of him. No such luck. He was pinned, but the man groaned deep in his throat and a shudder ran through him. 

Suddenly, Jon’s thrashing made him intimately aware of the erection prodding his back.

The man laughed as well, loving his struggle. He let him up a little just to slam him back down again and grind down into him.

The whine of exasperation that left Jon was long and sustained as he contemplated just _not_ struggling. Would the man get tired and let go? Would it speed up the inevitable? Why did that _always_ seem to be the inevitable...

Jon, still trying to scramble away, grunted out “don’t suppose-“ 

He gasped as the man pressed his full weight down again, “I could convince you to _not_ be beastly about this? Leave my clothes in one piece maybe?”

The only answer Jon received was the sound of his shirt being torn in one long pull. That and the rumbling, mocking laughter that echoed all around him. Needing his arms to tear at the shirt, he held Jon down with just his hips and his weight.

“Oh, really,” he complained loudly. “ _Must_ you?!”

The grass was soft against his chest and the man was hard against his arse. The dichotomy was unpleasant at best, tantalising at worst. The man felt well-endowed and Jon could only hope that it was a sock.

Jon’s trousers and pants went next, giving way far too easily under supernatural strength and sharp claws. The beast made a pleased sound in the back of his throat when he discovered Jon’s cunt.

He was flipped and lifted into the air by the hips. The man’s stubbled chin collided with Jon’s cock even as a much-too-long tongue probed his hole. The creature’s claws pressed warningly against Jon’s sides and his own face was pressed to the heat and musk of the thing’s groin. If the heat and feel of it on his face was anything to go by, he didn’t have a sock ball to contend with.

Jon pressed his hands to the ground to steady himself. The blood rushing to his groin and head at the same time left him a bit lightheaded and with an unpleasant buzzing in his teeth.

The terror of being chased through the woods had him sweaty and seemed to have kickstarted his slick production. His cunt was damp in the best possible way and it tasted of a good, meaty musk and the sharpness of his fear. The monster hummed appreciatively, nuzzling his nose into the scent. 

His tongue flicked lazily over Jon’s stiffening clit. At the same time, he began to rock his hips against Jon’s face - prick unbearably warm, even through his thick, cotton trousers.

Jon swallowed uncomfortably, the feel of this monster’s cock against him was intoxicating. The firm outline made his mouth water completely against his will. He found himself studying it with rapt attention, wondering about the true size of it. Would it feel as heavy in his mouth as it looked? Was that as big as it got? Could it possibly get bigger?

Before he noticed, he had his mouth pressed cautiously against the bulge. His lips opened to mouth at it inquisitively.

The creature, which was looking more like a beast the longer this went on, pressed forward with a huff. He reached down to impatiently tug his cock free. It was massive, hot, and smelled thickly of sweat and musk.

A tiny whimper caught in the back of Jon’s throat as he beheld the impressive specimen before him. It was everything he imagined and more. His captor was uncut, the foreskin looking soft and pliant. The tip, still mostly obscured, glistened with a singular fat bead of precum that threatened to drop into the grass below.

Before Jon could process his desire, the man plunged his tongue deep into Jon and lapped long, torturous strokes against his insides.

His brain was a mess of half-thoughts and overwhelming sensations already. With each probing stroke of the tongue, his world unravelled more. He could feel something tugging at the corner of his mind, be it unconsciousness or the first warning signs of an impending orgasm he couldn’t be sure. His blood was in all the wrong places, but at least it was inside of him.

Finally, the creature rolled them both to the ground and pressed the head of its cock roughly against Jon’s lips. Precum smeared over his lips and tongue as the beast continued to try to jam his entire tongue into Jon’s resistant cunt.

The sudden drop to the ground caused him to yelp in alarm, opening his mouth just enough to accept the fat head into his mouth. 

The taste was glorious. It was musky in a fine aged meat sort of way. It didn’t taste in any way bad or overly pungent. Clearly this beastly man had a good and well-balanced diet. Or Jon had an undiscovered cum fetish. Either way, who’d have known?

He closed his lips around the head and suckled gently, tongue prodding the edges of the foreskin before sliding a fraction under to better lick at the head.

The creature coaxed more and more cock into Jon’s mouth, pausing just to watch for a moment. His eyes were dilated far more than a human’s ought to be on a bright day and his grin still featured too many teeth ringing his lulling tongue.

Weirdly, this didn’t scare Jon so much anymore. The cock in his mouth rubbed steadily onto his tongue and he, surprisingly, liked that very much.

The look he gave was almost complacent, submissive, as he tilted his head a fraction to the right and blinked slowly. Once, twice, and a third time. He shifted minutely for a few more seconds before opening his mouth, tongue stretching lazily past his bottom lip and pressing along the top of the beast’s shaft.

He was a good little prey animal and would service the predator that had captured him fair and square. He found that he was willing to give himself over without question. Somewhere deep in his subconscious Jon fought against this - the primal need to serve and be used. It went against every fibre of his conscious personality, yet he was powerless against it.

The man grinned down at him with teeth gone even sharper now and tongue hanging out. He dribbled a mix of Jon’s slick and his own drool into the dirt.

Suddenly, he rolled so that Jon was underneath rather than alongside. With better leverage, the beast could fuck his throat all it liked, grinding against the very back of his tongue. His grunting and groaning left no doubt whether or not he enjoyed his prize.

Jon, having had previous experience with persons intent upon fucking his throat, only gagged a little. He was a quick learner and it seemed like his gag reflex got the picture to take its job less seriously in future. He gurgled and slurped around the large organ, drool running from the corners of his mouth.

While the larger man was distracted from his previous task, Jon reached one of his own hands down to touch himself, keen to get off at least once. After the whole ordeal with Nikola... he wasn’t sure he trusted others to properly get him off. He couldn’t unpack that right now, but he could get off.

Or, so he thought.

The man instantly seized and growled. He’d decided that Jon’s genitals were _his_ plaything, and no one else was to touch them. Jon’s hand just barely escaped snapping teeth before the man nuzzled down hard against his clit again.

Either bored or miffed, he dragged his huge cock free of Jon’s throat. Jon’s own saliva dripped from the foreskin onto his face. He was roughly lifted and flipped onto his hands and knees. Soon, the fat cockhead was nudging his cunt instead.

While not his original motivation for attempting to touch himself, he considered this a good consolation prize. 

He keened happily and waggled his arse, rubbing his slick all over the cockhead. While he didn’t have much of an arse to speak of, he figured wiggling was the universally accepted sign for _let’s play_ and _give it to me, big guy_. It also felt bloody fantastic - the veritable battering ram pressing and sliding against his tight hole just so.

It felt somewhat less fantastic when the thing jabbed roughly past his entrance and lodged the head inside - the stretch still too much. After an initial yelp of pain, the burn began to shift into something pleasant.

It all felt much too good and much too easy, but who was he to question? 

It wasn’t as if he wanted to be hurt.

Jon’s head lolled back, eyes cast towards the sky, and the man rubbed his stubbled cheek against Jon’s neck. He began to rock, pushing ever deeper in.

He whined happily and pressed back, eager to please and be pleasured in return.

And it was freeing, shedding any pretence of being human. Allowing his mind to simply feel and react without thought of how normal people should behave was as powerful as any medication he’d ever had. What was there to be anxious about? Animals didn’t have to worry about what others thought. 

They simply were, so why couldn’t he be the same?

The man fucking into Jon angled just right and sunk even deeper. Jon hadn’t thought it was possible, but he felt positively cored. His body did a fantastic job of making the pain into ecstasy for him, cunt dripping with slick and something shifting deep in his gut. 

Without any warning, the man buried himself straight to the hilt.

In the same moment, sharp fangs ripped into Jon’s shoulder.

He howled loudly as his first orgasm overtook him, the sound echoing through the clearing and dissipating as quickly as it formed. Pleasure ripped through his body, his cunt spasming and contracting so much that he almost unseated his attacker.

The creature’s thrusts stuttered as Jon’s cunt tried to force him out. He groaned and Jon could feel it where the fangs were sunk into him - marking him.

He dropped his head back, panting open-mouthed and tongue out as saliva dripped into the grass below. A low, continuous litany of moans and cries bubbled up from his sore throat.

As soon as his cunt went slack again, the man took up a brutal pace. The force of his thrusts were threatening to knock Jon into the dirt again, but his strong grip wouldn't allow it.

Each thrust rocked Jon to his very core. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. He could feel another orgasm bubbling in the pit of his stomach, and it drove him positively wild. 

He decided then that he would chase that mind-numbing sensation until either his hunter had had his fill, or he passed out from exhaustion.

Bracing himself, he bucked back, causing himself to scream again as the motion doubled the force of the cock was brutalising his poor cervix. The scream only spurred his captor on. He pounded Jon harder still, slamming like he thought there was a place further inside that he could reach if he just wrecked his prey enough.

His teeth still dug into Jon’s shoulder, pinning him in place as surely as his clawed hands did. Every little growl and grunt reverberated through his flesh, far too deep where it shouldn’t be at all. A brutal pounding from a half-beast shouldn’t feel so intimate, but Jon felt flayed open anyway.

His face was a mess, mouth steadily dripping saliva and tears streaming freely from eyes clenched shut. He was panting and moaning and whining, providing positive feedback as he was utterly destroyed.

Another orgasm hit and his world tipped sideways. Muscles all clenching like springs before giving out and he found that he could no longer hold himself up. His hips, knees, and elbows buckled, causing him to topple his front half on the grassy ground and his back half, still held in place with clawed hands, dragging to the side.

The hands held him fast in the air, refusing to give up the hunter’s prize until he was well and truly done. Luckily, or not, he was close and the punishing thrusts felt like they might punch straight through Jon’s stomach.

His captor growled into his shoulder, but soon gave way to whimpering as his hips lost their rhythm. Still, every slam to Jon’s shuddering insides made him feel more bruised. Spots fired in front of his eyes, annoyingly obstructing his vision.

After what seemed like an eternity, the thing shuddered to a stop. His cock was ground hard and deep right up against Jon’s cervix when he came. Hot cum flooded him. Streams of it were forced out around the massive cock and splashed uselessly into the dirt.

Just when Jon thought this must be over, the cock lodged deep in his cunt began to swell.

No, it couldn’t. 

It simply- this wasn’t- 

Except that it was. Honestly, why _shouldn’t_ it be?

It wasn’t as if anything else that had happened to him over the last few months was any less unlikely. This might as well happen too.

Jon whimpered hysterically.

He gave half a thought to trying to escape, but pain immobilised him. He had never before been filled so completely and it felt... glorious.

It really shouldn’t, but he didn’t have energy to pursue that.

The man whined and continued to nuzzle his cock deeper in, making sure the knot formed inside of Jon and not outside. Content to have trapped his prey so thoroughly, he dropped them both to the ground.

He was solid and heavy over Jon, but not impossibly so. It was a bit like being crushed to death and a bit like a weighted blanket. The warm cock inside of him had plugged itself in place and refused to move.

His breathing was laboured but calm as he shifted, trying to get comfortable for what he could only imagine would be a long postcoital cuddle.

In the stillness, he began to come back to himself. He didn’t want to come back to himself - it wasn’t always the nicest place.

He yipped and wiggled, requesting comfort and affection from the hunter. He could feel some impending dread forming in the back of his mind and was desperate to divert the impending breakdown. He wanted very much not to feel the tightness in his chest anymore.

The man unlatched his fangs from Jon’s bloodied shoulder to lap at his neck and cheek. He made soft snuffling sounds that reminded Jon distantly of a dog. Soon, the blood was cleaned from him and he was covered in saliva.

The cock in him hurt sharply whenever it pulled back against his opening, but it could still be prodded deliciously against his sweet spot - which it did with a little angling and heavy breathing on his captor’s part.

Warm, muscled arms wrapped around his chest and held him trapped against the man. It was impossibly hot and hazy in the midday afterglow.

Jon found himself alternating between wiggling just enough to provide a steady stream of pleasure endorphins and dozing off. The longer everything felt good, the longer he could stave off the unavoidable terror and disgust. It didn’t seem like the knot tying their bodies together was going down anytime soon so…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 2nd hunter has far too much fun chasing Jon through the forest. Jon has considerably less fun

Jon didn’t wake until much later. It was dark and he lay in the clearing, alone and empty. His thighs were slick with fluids he didn’t care to examine and a flannel shirt two sizes too big was draped over him. At least he had something to cover himself if nothing else.

But now he was suspiciously alone in the wilderness and at least two hunters were likely still tracking him.

He could just barely see in the light of the full moon and, as he rose and glanced about, he saw something that made his whole body freeze still.

Two yellow eyes gleamed at him from the underbrush.

Tugging the flannel closer, he stood on shaking legs. 

Sleeping on the ground did not agree with him. He was too thin and didn’t have any added cushion to make it bearable. He envied people with well-padded bodies, they looked so cosy. He bet that Martin, with his generous body, would feel much cosier than the hard ground. Which- why was he thinking of Martin at a time like this? Completely inappropriate and unhelpful given that the other man wasn’t even on the same continent.

The more pressing concern, at that moment, were the eyes, or, more importantly, the man behind them.

He wasn’t sure what to do, to confront the predator or to walk calmly away. 

Both would likely get him attacked. At least leaving would let the thing know he wanted nothing to do with it. So, walking away it was.

His clothing was ripped to shreds, but at least his previous assailant had left him a shirt and his shoes and socks were still intact. It wouldn’t do to wander the wilderness completely nude and barefoot.

The instant he moved away from the centre of the clearing, the beast lunged from the shadows to swipe at him with massive claws and a flash of fangs.

Jon dodged to the side, narrowly escaping with his skin and shirt in one piece. 

“Oh, come on,” he yelped as he landed hard on his quite flat arse. He scrambled backwards in the most awkward crab walk imaginable as he tried to make a speedy escape.

The man scented the air and grinned wickedly down at Jon’s shuffling body. 

With the shirt unbuttoned and his legs splayed, he could almost be accused of putting on a show for his predator. More fluid dripped down his thighs and he could only imagine that his cunt made a lewd picture under the moonlight.

The creature lunged towards Jon again, but didn’t actually close the gap.

Jon kicked a leg out to try and fend the man off, which resulted in him toppling onto his side. He decided at that point that crawling on all fours was a better bet than scrambling backwards. 

He made it a few feet, knees becoming horribly scraped up before he could stand and lurch towards the protection of the trees. Fuck walking. He was _not_ going to make that mistake again.

A horrible laugh echoed all around him as he got to his feet and ran through the darkness. It was the kind of raw, primal sound that could burrow into a person’s gut and stay there. It made him want to scream, but that would be a stupid thing to do.

Even over his own feverish running, Jon could hear the thing knock into trees or overturn rocks in its chase. It was _playing_ with him. It _wanted_ him to hear.

Jon tried ducking down a steep hillside, nearly twisting his ankle in his rush. 

He found a section of the hill side that looked like it had been dug out with an excavator and ducked in to hide. His breathing was laboured in such a way that his tongue was becoming numb and his chest hurt. He covered his own mouth to try and muffle the sound.

The little hideaway was barely that, but it did position him perfectly to hear the beast stalk around just above him. He could swear it’s boot wasn’t a meter away from his head at any given moment and he knew that his heartbeat or laboured breathing would give him away anytime now.

Then, miraculously, the man moved further away from him. He could hear the thing retreating into the brush to look elsewhere.

He allowed himself the luxury of breathing.

He waited for a moment longer, just to hear the footsteps fade further into the distance, before he slunk from his hidey-hole and back the way he came. Perhaps, if he could backtrack enough, he could find some familiar landmark and make it back to the road. 

Others had escaped American werewolves before - why shouldn’t he?

His pace was glacial as he tried to make no sound.

As soon as he stepped out into the open, the man leapt clear over his head and landed in front of him. 

Unless he could climb his way back out, his avenues of escape were limited.

Jon screamed and jerked left, nearly braining himself on a low hanging tree branch as the monster began to turn toward him.

He ducked under at the last minute and ran as fast as he was able without falling. He could feel his body start to drag. Damn him for never joining Tim for a jog. He bet that Tim would easily outpace most assailants, if he wasn’t too busy trying to seduce them.

Tim’s powers of seduction would probably have come in handy here trapped in the hunt. Instead, it was Jon - asexual, panicked, and running for his life when he hadn’t jogged in years.

The beast was having no such problems. It darted left and right as it chased Jon, lunging forward to swipe at him whenever it pleased.

A claw brushed Jon’s side just enough that he felt it.

He hissed in pain, but kept going. He didn’t have the luxury of stopping just then. He could only keep this up for so long before he collapsed and, before that, he had to escape.

The beast seemed to slow just slightly, letting Jon get just enough ahead to make it terrifying when he caught up again. He stopped to howl into the night before disappearing into the brush. A few short seconds later, he burst out from Jon’s left just enough in front to force him to turn.

He knew he was being toyed with, there was no other explanation for why the beast hadn’t just caught him yet. What did he stand to gain from this game of cat and mouse? 

Or, wolf and rabbit?

Jon knew that rabbits could get so stressed that they dropped dead. Each time he got away only to be caught again, he felt like he just might die as well.

Each time, his reactions got that much sloppier. His muscles screamed and his joints popped. He was parched and each breath cut his overtaxed lungs like the air was glass.

The thing disappeared once more and sang, loud and deep.

“ _a-hunting we will go~ a-hunting we will go_ ,” he slurred around his own drool, but the words were clear enough.

Jon was approaching a stream in the distance when the man dropped from a tree on top of him, sending them both rolling several meters. 

The moment their bodies collided every ounce of fight Jon had left evaporated. It was all he could do to go limp when tackled so he didn’t break something as they tumbled. His limbs stung and were numb in places. Blood steadily escaped cuts and scrapes on his legs from running through the forest bare.

With an animalistic howl of triumph, the thing pinned him.

The monster above him leaned in close enough to growl in his ear, long trails of saliva dangling down to touch his shoulder.

“ _We’ll catch a hare in our snare~_

 _And never let him go~_ ”

The words devolved into growls, barely even coherent anymore. The beast’s claws held his wrists fast against the ground. Jon tried to resist the thing. He really did. He tried to kick his legs and tug his arms away, but his body would not respond. He was trapped - mentally screaming while his body did nothing but lie there, like sleep paralysis when he was wide awake.

The man flipped Jon over onto his back once he was sure that his prey couldn’t run. Even so, Jon couldn’t make out the man’s face in any detail as the moon backlit him. What he could make out was too much hair - fur? - in silhouette.

The beast shoved his face into Jon’s neck, sniffing heavily and working his way down Jon’s front. He licked at each nipple and the dip of his stomach before shoving Jon’s legs into the air.

His knees and back popped in protest. Unable to do anything to defend himself, he focused on his breathing. Just maybe he could rest enough and his body would start behaving again, for all the good it would do him.

Just as he was thinking he could catch his breath, the creature began to lap insistently at his cock. He then snuggled his nose against it and nipped lightly over Jon’s labia - hard enough to hurt but not enough to cut.

Jon’s knees jerked involuntarily, and the motion had him almost kneeing his captor in the head. 

He’d never been particularly interested in pain with what little sex he accepted, and he certainly did not want it there! 

He whined, open mouthed, as he struggled to form any words at all.

The beast nipped his way back up Jon’s body and, without any warning, shoved his cock hard and fast into the Archivist.

The sudden intrusion jolted him out of whatever prey animal trance the fall had him in and he cried out. _Not again, damn it_. He pushed through the mental fog and his own exhaustion enough to lift arms and shove, mostly ineffectually at him. 

“G-get off!”

The beast cocked his head before clamping a clawed hand over Jon’s mouth. His sharp nails dug into the Archivist’s jaw. He didn’t stop sinking his cock into Jon.

Jon shook his head and tried to dislodge the hand just enough that he could- there! He bit down, hard. His teeth were human and not nearly as sharp, but he managed to draw blood.

_Blegh. Disgusting._

The creature howled and yanked his hand back only to slap Jon. Three small cuts tore open on his cheekbone and the thing decided to choke him with both hands instead. No air, no words.

He choked out a _stop_ before he could make no more sounds. Scrabbling against the hands at his throat, he could feel himself start to drift off.

The thing paused oddly and stared down at him before releasing its hold on his neck. 

Jon was able to take a shaky gasp before his air was choked off again. 

His hips snapped hard and fast up into Jon’s cunt as he squeezed his airway shut.

Tears and spots clouded Jon’s vision. 

The lack of oxygen, the sense of extreme panic, and the impossibly deep angle of the man’s thrusts had him unable to think about much beyond his next breath.

His arms were useless as he had almost zero upper body strength and his legs were... conveniently located near his attacker’s head! In an ill-advised stroke of inspiration, Jon attempted to smash the other man’s head between his very bony and bloody calves.

More than hurt, his attacker seemed surprised. On instinct, the man bit at the thing hitting the side of his head and sunk his razor-sharp fangs into Jon’s calf. The thrusts didn’t let up in the least, but the beastman had at least figured out how to choke Jon just enough to keep him lightheaded without letting him pass out. Whether to count that as a blessing or a curse, Jon couldn’t figure at first.

Probably a curse. 

Jon screamed the next time he was allowed to breathe long enough to properly make a noise. Everything hurt and whatever the beast was doing between his legs was doing nothing for him. Which, aside from being painful and traumatic, was kind of a let-down after the last guy.

The choking and dry fuck may have been bad for him, but at least it was doing it for the beast - which, hopefully, meant that it would be over soon.

He wouldn’t find out.

As the man continued to slam in, he lost track of how much he was squeezing. Jon’s vision went black around the edges.

He welcomed it, willing himself into unconsciousness. This, at least, was an out. He wondered idly if the beast would notice when he’d passed out or if this would be the end of him. Subpar sex and no answers as to why.

Things went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more hunter to go!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon encounters the final hunter and gets a bit tied up.

The next thing Jon knew, he was covering his face to block out the light of morning.

He rolled over onto his knees and cried out from the pain. Each bruise and gash felt like it were splitting open when he so much as breathed. Gritting his teeth, he reared up and ended up on his arse.

He was, blessedly, alone. The signs of his late-night attack stayed with him, though. Aside from his cuts and bruises, Jon’s throat ached and wetness dripped from between his legs where the beast had all but torn him open.

He was, at the very least, near a stream.

Not one to look a gift bath in the… whatever, he waded into the crystal-clear waters and dunked himself down with a whine. Even during the summer, the water was freezing in the morning. He knelt, shaking as he tried to clean himself as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

His hands lingered over the new cuts and bite marks. He was not a vain man and, as such, had no delusions about his attractiveness. What were a few more scars?

Slowly, the sticky blood washed away to leave only the scabs behind. The cold water didn’t help the stiffness, but he did begin to feel less pain as he washed.

His reflection was wavy at best in the slow stream’s surface, but he could already tell that his face would be marked where he’d been slapped. The bite on his calf looked dark and angry.

When Jon left the water, he was cold and wet even in the warmth of the morning sun.

He was glad to still have the flannel shirt left for him by the big, better at sex, bad wolf. Pulling it on after air drying for a bit, he fought to get his socks onto his damp feet. His feet were gritty from the sand by the stream, but he’d have to deal with it. His shoes didn’t help, but at least he _had_ them.

He decided the best course of action would be to go back the way he came and started off at a decent pace, keeping an eye out for any more hunters.

In the daylight, it was a little hard to follow his path at first. He should have been able to tell by the snapped branches and disturbed underbrush - but nothing looked out of place as he traced through the wilderness.

Around the time he figured he should have found his hiding spot from the night before, he’d found nothing recognizable.

“Oh come on,” he shouted in frustration. “What the _fuck_ is with this bloody forest!?”

He trudged on, all the while muttering under his breath about America and werewolves and murdering Elias for sending him here in the first place. It felt like Jon had wandered for the better part of an hour when he heard something odd off in the distance - a normal human voice, distant and indistinct.

He was suspicious but cautiously optimistic as he started in that direction. Maybe... just maybe this would all be over soon.

The voice grew closer as Jon walked. It certainly _sounded_ like a normal human. Everything began to look less wild as well. Soon, he entered another clearing. On the other side of the clearing, Jon could swear he heard birds chirping and the sounds of suburban life...

Jon sent a silent prayer to whatever was listening and picked up his pace to a run. The quiet of the forest was being peeled back the further he progressed. He could see the end of the treeline now. Beyond was sunlight and shapes that might even be houses.

Just as Jon was sure he’d make the other side of the clearing, a god did answer. 

Unfortunately.

Something whizzed past before he could process what was happening and he was dragged into the air. After a few moments of panicked struggle, he realized what he’d gotten himself into: a trap. 

More specifically, he’d been caught in a net and was now hanging from a tree limb. His flannel did little to cover him in the awkward position he found himself in.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” 

He immediately started to try and undo the net. _Fuck_ this forest, _fuck_ this net, and _fuck_ whatever hunter set it.

The last hunter - Jon could only hope - stepped out from behind a thick tree trunk with a horrible grin. He looked ragged and unshaven in that way that many outdoorsmen only ever hoped for.

“Hello there, little thing,” he drawled, not sounding entirely human but confirming something Jon had feared - his was the voice that had lured him here.

He stalked around Jon in a circle, appraising him.

“ _A-hunting we will go_ , indeed.”

Struggling only had the effect of causing his shirt to ride up around his midsection, leaving his nethers exposed and pressed flush to the rough netting.

“Haven’t you all had quite enough hunting,” he crossed his arms and glared indignantly. 

The man snatched the rope and used it to force Jon close, letting him know exactly who was in charge here.

“No,” he growled. His eyes glinted hard. “The hunt is _eternal_.”

His free hand groped at Jon’s fully exposed cunt and squeezed roughly. A finger slid easily between his labia to rub his prick.

The man wasn’t unappealing, if you were interested. He was certainly the most groomed of all the dogs that had been pursuing Jon and the only one he’d gotten a good look at too. But his poor, abused cunt was bruised and swollen from last night’s dry fuck. He hissed and tried to escape.

Handsome or not - he was _not_ doing this again!

“Stop that,” He hissed.

The man inspected his cunt and shook his head, “poor dear, so mistreated.”

Instead of rubbing, he pressed his tongue against Jon’s cock and teased him lightly until the reluctant little prick stiffened even against the pain. 

“Blame your brutish coho- _ahh_!” 

He shuddered out a surprised moan. The tongue felt like heaven against his cock and he unconsciously rocked his hips forward into the sensation. He couldn’t register anything else at that moment, it felt too good for that.

What was it with the hunt and being fantastic at oral, and why did Jon need this information? Why, of all people, did he have to know that? These were thoughts Jon would have. Later. Right now, he was losing himself in the skilful tongue of a total stranger.

Luckily, the man seemed to have judged that Jon’s cunt was too abused to fuck. Instead, he lubed his finger with slick and began to rub his tight arsehole.

The man’s finger swirled against Jon’s hole with far less resistance than expected - had he used actual lube? Jon was near hysterical over the idea of a werewolf that carried his own personal lubricant - but the thought was ripped from his mind as soon as the finger nudged into him.

Jon grasped at the net, clinging to the ropes in hopes of grounding himself. 

“No- that’s-“ he panicked at how delectable it felt, but desperately searched for some way to dissuade the man from continuing anyway. “Messy!”

“Don’t mind a mess,” he slurred around Jon’s stiff cock. His tongue flicked and rolled the words right over his highly sensitive flesh. Despite his protest, Jon’s arse opened easily enough. It was actually a clever solution. The finger in him crooked decidedly forward to tap at his sweet spot while completely bypassing his bruised labia.

“P-pleeease,” he crooned, head rolling back to rest against the ropes and shimmying his hips against the sensation. “That... th- s...”

The man intentionally avoided his sweet spot for the next two swipes before tapping it decisively once more. His tongue continued to work at Jon’s prick, but he occasionally swiped lower. The licks to the bruised areas added an interesting element of dull ache.

Jon was lost in the sensation and the helplessness of being suspended and unable to free himself. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measures.

_What the literal fuck…_

While he’d been having a minor existential crisis, the man managed to slide a second finger into him. He began to massage Jon’s g-spot, pulling away just often enough to keep him in a daze and on the edge.

He tried rocking his hips, encouraging the man to continue. It felt fantastic. He guessed that he could get off from the fingering alone and, if the man planned to fuck his arse, he’d need at least one orgasm to take the edge off.

But every single time Jon neared his orgasm, the man shied away from giving it to him. Jon was beginning to recognize a familiar pattern forming. He was being edged.

Even as he realized it, the wicked tongue went back to teasing his stiff cock. The man sucked and licked at him whenever he stopped teasing his insides and then the reverse - never letting one sensation build enough to get him off.

Very soon, he had three large fingers sunk deep into Jon.

He was content enough to enjoy the varied attentions, not yet being so close as to find it completely unbearable. His cunt was dripping now, plenty wet and excited, if still quite sore.

“Are you planning on _using_ my arse for someth-nnnmgh” he broke off to moan and arch against the fingers before collecting himself enough to finish the thought. 

“Or...?”

The hunter grinned darkly up at him. 

“Yes, actually. Suppose I ought to get on with it, then?”

He unzipped his trousers and fished out a cock that was... well, intimidating. Jon suddenly wondered if he did need more prep before taking that monster. He swallowed thickly around a lump of nervous anticipation in his throat. 

“Oh no- no bloody way...” eyeing the thing warily, he shifted so that it caused him to rotate slowly in place. It was pathetic, but it was also the only way he could move away.

The beastman grabbed hold of the net and dragged it until he and Jon were face to face - the Archivist lifted as much by the thick, solid fingers up his arse as he was by the net.

“Dunno if I made this clear enough, but your ass is mine,” he growled as his fingers crooked wickedly inward. The sudden jolt of pleasure had Jon arching his back and tugging at the net to- what? Try and escape? Hold himself in place?

The man worked him into a frenzy of pleasure before letting off entirely to tease again. He stroked Jon inside hard and fast only to slow down and begin licking idly at his cock as soon as the man’s thighs began to shake with need.

Jon’s whines ranged from blissful pleasure to aggrieved frustration. 

“P-please stop- or don’t stop- pick one!”

The man cocked his head a bit, like the last one had.

“I’m not stopping.”

Jon groaned and proceeded to reach one hand down to touch himself, the edging becoming too much for him to stand. If this man wouldn’t do it, then Jon was perfectly capable.

“Not what I meant, and you know it,” he hissed.

The beast growled and nipped at his fingers until he removed them.

“Bite a finger off if you do that again,” he threatened before he managed to get a fourth finger into Jon’s hole.

“Then get me off, you insufferable-” his snipping was cut off by a pained moan as the fourth finger breached him and his arse tried hard to clamp down.

The man laughed and started to rock in slowly, every nudge and bump an overwhelming sensation, until his knuckles brushed against Jon’s tight arse. He flicked Jon’s cock the barest bit with his tongue

Breath caught in his throat as he could feel the oncoming relief approaching from deep inside. His toes clenched and his ankles shook just slightly. _Just a little bit more-_

The tongue flicking his cock stopped abruptly and he pulled his fingers free of Jon’s arse.

Jon’s entire body tensed and he made the most threatening growl he was capable of given his current predicament, “son of a bitch...” 

Physical pain rolled through him as he was ripped away from completion at the last second. Every part of his body ached with denial and an overabundance of need.

The beast seized the net and dragged Jon closer so he could glare into his eyes while he spoke, “you’re only allowed to cum on my cock. Understand?”

Jon glared right back. 

“ _Then. Get. On. With. It._ ” 

He bit out each word. He got a feeling that when the man finally stopped teasing it would hurt, but he welcomed it if it would mean he finally got to cum.

The man looked at him oddly, almost dumbstruck, but then he finally did withdraw his fingers. He slicked his cock mechanically and then began to press it into Jon without much care or gentleness.

If Jon noticed the change, all thoughts as to why flew out the window, uhh- net, when he finally got what he wanted. The man’s cock filled him almost to the point of actual pain. He rocked his hips back against the thrusts, chasing the zing of pleasure he knew would come if he could just hit the right spot.

The man moved in perfunctory, barely conscious ways at first with no aim or eye towards bringing either of them actual pleasure. Then, he shook his head a bit like a wet dog and gave Jon an indignant look.

He took hold of the net to move Jon on his cock and angled his hips just so until - _there!_ \- he hit the spot that made Jon’s vision blur.

He gasped out his pleasure writhing against the net, begging for more of the same. 

“G-god- yessss!”

His cunt was coated with slick, a small stream sedately flowing down to drip over his arse and the cock holding him open so nicely. The man grinned, showing one long fang before he rolled his tongue out to wet his lips. A bit of drool spilled onto Jon’s cunt to mix with his fluid and keep his arse nice and slick for him.

He made a habit of hitting that spot dead on, but didn’t always do it - leading Jon into an ultimately unsatisfying dance between pleasure and pain.

“There’s a good boy,” he growled.

Jon’s chest heaved as he breathed heavily, bodily vibrating each time he got close and was denied. His hand was shaking as he stuck his arm out of the net to try and grab the man by the hair. He couldn’t quite reach, but the effect was close enough, he supposed. 

“Fff-fuck you. Don’t-” he broke off with a cry of frustration. “Ss-stop teasing!”

His words weren’t powerful enough this time, and the man just laughed in his face before refusing him orgasm. Again.

“‘S more fun if it lasts longer,” he muttered before slamming Jon’s sweet spot.

“For you maybe,” he whined and tried to buck back into the sensation. His entire body was tense and his nerves were on edge when he growled out, “some of us can go _more than once_!”

The creature laughed and seemed to finally get the point. He grabbed a better handful of net. 

“What do you want me to do, then?”

His thrusts were now hitting just right every _other_ time.

“St-stop fucking arou-” he howled beautifully as the other man hit his sweet spot, sending sparks up his spine. His mouth was dry from all the panting and he had to take a minute before he tried again. 

“Let me cum,” His voice was a bit raspier than he had hoped.

The creature was enjoying making him wait, keeping him right on the edge between orgasm and frustration.

“Let you _what_ ,” he teased.

“Give me your cock properly, you _insufferable_ beast. _Let. Me. Cum._ ” 

His words were stronger this time, layered with authority and power. The man was trying to fight the compulsion that Jon barely knew he possessed, but it wasn’t easy. In his confusion, he stopped fucking Jon altogether.

“No! What part of ‘let me cum’ made you think you’re allowed to stop?” He chided the thing like a naughty child. “Either fuck me properly or let me loose.”

The creature stared at him a moment, hesitating.

Jon took a deep breath through his nose, chest puffing up in annoyance. 

“What’s the matter with you? Did you suddenly forget how to fuck? Go through all the trouble of getting me trussed up and on display only to give a subpar performance?” He was growing more annoyed by the second and if he weren’t so damned horny he would try and escape while his captor was dumbstruck.

“I swear to whatever god is watching - if you don’t get me off, I _will_ end you.” He didn’t know where that threat came from but it felt about right.

The man shuddered free of his confusion and began to drive into Jon harder than ever, seeming to understand what was expected of him now. Every jerk of his hips stabbed against Jon’s front wall, sending little blitzes of pleasure through him.

 _Finally!_

Jon moaned his approval loudly and enthusiastically. 

“Fff- yes! Thhs _perfect_!” He was babbling then and lost in his own pleasure when his first orgasm ripped through his exhausted body. Tears flowed freely and his eyes rolled back as he arched into every thrust, needy in his quest for more.

The creature groaned over him and scrambled for a better hold on the Archivist. His thrusts became harder still and every last one hit Jon right where he needed it.

Wave after wave sent Jon spiralling into one orgasm after another until he could no longer tell where one ended and another began. He was ecstatic.

“Thats a g-good boy! J-just lii-aahh! Yes! Just like that!” He clenched down hard and screamed as he came. A spray of hot liquid erupted from somewhere between his legs. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to really examine what that liquid might be and he felt too fantastic to care.

The beast didn’t seem to notice or care about the spray either. He picked up speed and, soon, Jon felt something hot spill inside of him as the man grunted and shuddered.

If he’d expected a rest, he’d been mistaken. Instead, the creature pounded ever harder. He was made to slow, though, as the base of his cock was swelling and he had to force that in and out with every unbearable thrust.

Jon’s scream broke off and he could do no more than gasp and frantically tug at the net. Each time the knot breached his poor abused sphincter a jolt of pain shot through his entire body, building upon itself until he was sure he would burst open.

The beast didn’t stop, even as Jon’s screams echoed around them. Even as his hole began to adjust, he just used that to fuck into him with more speed and vigour. Trapped as he was, he could do nothing more than take it while another climax shook him. He clamped down like a vice around the man’s knot and didn’t let go the entire time he spasmed.

The man growled as he could only hold inside of Jon through the orgasm. He trembled, clearly forced through a dry orgasm himself.

Jon collapsed, boneless against his confines. His body relaxed and, after a moment’s rest, he shifted uncomfortably. Now completely satiated and not in the least bit aroused, he was becoming increasingly restless and wanted to be cock-free and cut loose.

After the creature caught his breath, he pulled at his cock - but it was stuck.

Jon squawked in general alarm.

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s stuck!” 

He tried to pull away as much as the net would allow.

The creature growled. Somewhere along the way, he’d shifted and now looked more monstrous than before. He was hairier and his face more sharp and long like a wolf’s snout.

“It’s a knot - it does that,” he grumbled

“Ah, well... how long are we expected to be... tied together?” He had been unconscious for the other knotting periods. He tilted his head a fraction as he examined the man more fully. “Do you have a tail?”

“No, I don’t,” he insisted, shifting away from Jon. “Maybe ten more minutes...”

“Ah, whatever you say...” clearly he didn’t buy it. The man certainly had a tail, no matter how he tried to hide it’s sedate wagging. “While we’re here, how about you _answer a few questions_ , hmm?” 

He grinned wolfishly.

The man’s stunned silence and wide-eyed stare were all he needed to know that he was on exactly the right track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up: The Eye
> 
> Please leave a comment and let us know what you thought! We really appreciate the feedback. <3

**Author's Note:**

> About Us: We are a queer couple and we write fucked up shit sometimes.
> 
> We appreciate you taking the time to read our nonsense. Thank you to everyone who's read and commented on this series so far. Your words sustain us and are very important to the creative process! <3


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